My Creation
by moonlitreflections
Summary: A soldier sends a letter to his creation, reminiscing on a past long since gone. Contains OCs.


Dear Anthelion:

Primus, I love down-time. All the fighting just makes me want to aim a laser rifle at my head and pull the trigger. But with the kind of luck we've been having, the laser would probably only bounce off or miss the core processor or some other lame slag. So here I am typing in my personal comp console. It's not simply therapeutic it's entertaining, too, but not for me. I can see the Look some of the others give me. I bet they wonder what I'm typing. By the Pit I hate them for that. I'll admit that I'm not the kind of Transformer that enjoys staring at a comp screen and typing away.

I may not have much patience, but I _do_ have _some_.

Anyway, if any of 'em bothered to learn more about me they'd know that. I would stop getting That Look.

Then again... I don't really recall what I know 'bout myself. It's like having someone else's memories, y'know? The war and all the fighting and wounding and dying... Slag, it's a wonder any of us can remember our true selves.

You aren't following, are you? Course you aren't — you were programmed just a little over six vorns ago. All you've ever known is the war, so your spark isn't being pulled between a world that is dead and a world that's slowly dying.

I don't know if that is good or bad.

I suppose I should get to explaining myself, seeing as you have about as much patience as your creator.

Here is the deal. Before I was a part of this team, way WAY before the present (time, not gift; though I'll send one as soon as I can) there was the Golden Age. There weren't any factions tha' called themselves Autobot or Decepticon. It was a time of the flourishing of the applied and abstract arts and of the sciences. (What? Surprised I know big terms? I oughtta reach through this screen and smack you, little smart-aft.) New metals, enhanced programming, new tools. New types of art.

Ah, there's a subject I know more'n a thing or two about. Art. I love that word.

I had my own gallery. It was second only to the Council Pavilions – a very close second! – and located in the same city: Iacon. (Iacon itself was a masterpiece of architectural art, but I will get to that later.) I named it Dïerona, a word from a little-known alien culture that means Dawn. At dawn, anything is imaginable, which was reflected in the gallery. Over 2,000 artists using several different mediums showcased their joys within Dïerona's walls.

There was Tau and his force sculptures. Y'know how those're made? A force field is created, then set to react to pressure, temperature, light and a spaceload of other variables. The colors and shapes resulting from the will of the sculptor can never be exactly duplicated, kinda like "snowflakes" on Earth — no two are the same. Other than that, it can't be described. It is a beauty which you have to see with your optics. I think I still have some pictures floating around in this trashbot of a comp, so I promise to send you copies so you can see what I mean about 'em.

Another famous artist was Sionysa. She created gardens of crystal that glittered, glowed, even sang music she composed! She's the one that designed the legendary Hanging Crystal Garden for the Pavilion. It took her a lifetime to complete, and it shows— showed… Wow, was she some femme...

Then there were a few who created entire areas of landscape using holograph tech. My favorite was "Lushayana'ia" by... er... um... Don't you dare make any cracks about my memory capacity or I WILL reach through this screen and smack you. Lushayana'ia was a jungle on Lush planet. Hah, and humans think the Amazon rainforest is something to 'ooo' and 'ahhh' over.

But the one who stood out the most was Muelon. That ol' mech practiced a pretty esoteric style of art: painting. All his paints had to be specially imported from different planets because Cybertron didn't have the materials. Cost a bundle, (which is why it was a rare art 'cause not many could afford them) but the finished creations more than made up for it. The closest I've seen of human style to Muelon's is something called "impressionism". I'll send you pictures of tha', too.

On to Iacon — and see, I remembered to come back t' it!

Iacon was a collaboration of all artists. All. Even the lowest of 'em had a say in something. It wasn't easy coordinating the ideas, and it could have led to trouble but fortunately people agreed to be randomly assigned to one of five sectors. Once those plans were on disk a small group of artists oversaw the meshing of the five so it all didn't end up looking like a Quintesson.

Now y'see why so many of us are struggling? To go from One to Many... it's like being kicked out of paradise. I'm a warrior, but I still feel like an art gallery owner. Like Jazz, a musician whose band members separated into Bot and Con. Or Swindle, the savvy merchant who had his business literally explode in front of 'im. I could go on forever.

But I won't. I'm tired of typing now, of reliving the past. So I'm gonna head back out and try to forget the pain by kickin' some slaggin' Decepticon skidplates. It's easier to do if you think 'bout how they betrayed Paradise. Ain't that a kick in the lugnuts, remembering pain to forget pain?

Primus, I hate down-time. It gives me too much time t' think.

Love, Helios


End file.
